


Timmns and Sar go on holiday!

by DarkShadeless



Series: Overseer Sar [48]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, I needed some fun and this is it, M/M, Somminick is a good friend, Theron mopes a lot, XD, and beleaguered Jedi, complete and utter crack, grumpy sith, he doesn't like being home alone, in his own way, so is Sar, trying to relax, what could go wrong, what it says on the tin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-08-23 05:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20237590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless
Summary: “Come now. It will be fun. What could possibly go wrong?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mwahahahahahahahahahaha- *coughs*

It’s one of the hardest missions Somminick has ever signed up for. Months of planning go into the endeavour, hours upon hours of painstakingly chipping away at his target’s defences. But he will not be deterred. Sar is going to take a holiday if it’s the last thing Somminick achieves in this galaxy.

“No I won’t! Will you drop it already!”

His colleague’s murderous stare slides off him like water off an aquatic bird. “Never.”

A few paces ahead a group of padawans and apprentices hastily takes a different turn before the overseer’s glower can fall upon them. Somminick has to suppress a smile at the sight. It’s unbecoming of a Jedi to be amused by that kind of thing.

“I haven’t taken a holiday in my life, Timmns!”

Technically, neither has he but that’s beside the point. “Then it’s about time, don’t you think?”

“_No_!”

Securing Sar’s agreement to the endeavour is like attempting to give a rancor with a toothache dental surgery. Thankfully this particular rancor has become accustomed to Somminick’s presence. It isn’t as likely to try and have him for dinner as it might have been a few years ago.

“Come now. It will be fun. What could possibly go wrong?”

… yes. What could_ possibly _go wrong? He will remember that claim.

* * *

Sar stares at the shuttle as if it might open its hatch, swallow him whole and steal his soul while it’s at it. “How did you get me to agree to this?”

Timmns doesn’t bat an eye. “Furlough.”

Right. Void take it. It was this or sit on his ass, practically confined to quarters with nothing to do for _three weeks_. “I hate you.”

Sadly, Timmns has been exposed to that assertion too much to still take it seriously. His slightly smug serenity doesn’t so much as wobble. “I’m sure you do. We should hurry or we’ll miss our flight.”

_Miss our flight_ he says. As if Sar has a say in this at all. Once Theron caught wind of ‘their’ plans it was _over_. ‘Oh, that’s _wonderful_, love. Isn’t it? Lana, that’s a great idea, right?’

Sar chances a glance at his boyfriend, where he is hovering on the side-lines. He looks a little like a puppy that’s about to be abandoned but who knows its owner can’t afford to keep it. They haven’t spent a significant amount of time apart since Theron got back from that blighted undercover mission.

… as much as Sar hates to admit it, it might be time. They can’t spend the rest of their lives glued together. Theron’s going to head out again, eventually. It’s what he does. This is a nice, safe opportunity for them to get back into the swing of things without the comm. blackouts and uncertainty of a mission. This is _good_. It’s going to be good for them. Timmns picked a decent resort with sprawling beaches and cocktail bars, too, and he knows what to do with at least one of these two. It can’t be all bad.

“Alright. Okay, fine.”

“I knew you’d come around.”

“You didn’t know shit.”

The first leg of their journey really gets Sar into the swing of things. He’s… he’s a bit of a nervous wreck at first, he'll admit that. So what. He’s leaving all of his students in the hands of semi-capable wanna-be instructors!

But the shuttle has these tiny snacks on crackers that are pretty great and watching Odessen become a blue and green marble in space is nice too. It grows smaller and smaller and for the first time in years, maybe ever, Sar realizes he has nothing tying him down. Nothing work related, anyhow. He’s got nowhere to be but in this seat with his fancy shrimp bites. It’s… weirdly disconcerting.

“Somminick.”

“Hm?”

“I think I’m having an anxiety attack.”

“Seriously?”


	2. Chapter 2

Alright. Perhaps Timmns has underestimated his colleague’s attachment to his job. He certainly didn’t count on spending the first hour of their flight trying to distract Sar from what he describes as ‘claustrophobia but the walls are fine.’

“But now that I think about it, this tin can is kinda small.”

Somminick takes that in with the softly rising dread of someone who watches their co-worker muster their dinner and ask ‘Are pistachios nuts? “Do small spaces bother you?”

Sar dissects that possibility with a suspicious squint. “Sometimes?”

That’s… that… would have been good to know in advance. He had no idea. Sar can be so damnably tight-lipped- “Wait, does that mean our _office_ bothers you?”

“Not as long as the walls don’t come down around my ears.”

Oh, good. That’s unlikely to happ- _Wait a second. _Somminick pauses in pulling apart one of the snack-pastries and stares at the remaining bits with unseeing eyes. “But they did.”

“Yeah, I know.”

… that’s it , he’s getting them reassigned the second they get back.

* * *

Timmns is still busy doing unspeakable things to innocent in-flight refreshments (and muttering darkly to himself) when their compartment lurches. You could’ve called it a turbulence if there was such a thing as turbulences in _space_.

The speakers overhead crack. #_Ladies, gentlemen and otherwise gendered beings, we are experiencing a slight imbalance in our engine capacity. Our technicians are conducting an inspection right now but our flight time will deviate from the expected duration. We apologize for the inconvenience.#_

Inconvenience, his ass. Oh well. It’s not like anything is waiting for them but sparkly blue water straight out of a commercial and alcohol served with tiny umbrellas and fruit. Doesn’t matter if they get there an hour late. Maybe he’ll even get a nap in if he can convince his brain that the world isn’t about to end on him.

Hah. Yeah, right. He’s stuck in a box with a bunch of bastards he doesn’t know. If he closes his eyes and actually falls asleep he might stab the flight attendant on accident. Sar is pretty sure that wouldn’t be a good start to their holiday.

He can already hear it. ‘_They just wanted to hand you a soda, Sar. What did they ever do to you!_’

The thought alone makes him pull a grimace. He gets enough lectures as it is. No need to invite more.

Also… Sar sinks into his seat and glances at their fellow travellers with half-lidded eyes. The trepidation that has hounded him since he realized he had _no duties_ and _nothing to do _and all of his hard work was in the hands of (possibly) incompetent people has slunk into whatever dark corner of his psyche it came from to make room for a clarity and calm he associates with one thing and one thing alone.

_Danger._

An ancient, wrinkly alien in the seat opposite them is patting their sprog on the head and praising them for how prettily they have defaced the safety instructions. Nothing about them suggests either is an assassin in disguise. The herd of sweating creatures in the corner that are eating their bodyweight in seafood and are struggling not to get the sauce on their business attire don’t look too threatening either. They’d probably shank someone for a credit but they’re not competent enough.

No. Whoever or whatever is the source of his premonition, it has to be capable of actually posing a challenge to Sar.

Actually… it almost feels _familiar._ He closes his eyes and lets the impressions of the commercial flight wash over him. Readymade food that’s not as fresh as it’s pretending to be. Spilled kaf, so stale it makes Sar’s nose wrinkle. Soda and candy. Coarse seats. Chatter in different languages, melting together to a blanket of noise. The low-level hum of the engines. All of it falls into place... and underneath it there's a dissonance. Sar breathes out. The background noise fades as his focus shifts, wherever the Force may take it. _Click-click-click._

_Teeth. Veiny flesh and talon-like appendages, ready to shred you, but it’s the maw you have to look out for. They’ll swallow you whole._

_He doesn’t mind cramped quarters while the walls and ceiling stay where they're supposed to be… and while there are no monsters waiting in the dark to tear him to pieces. There's nothing quite like the rythmic sound of claws on durasteel.  
_

Sar’s eyes snap open. Beside him Timmns grows tense, his presence in the Force flaring suddenly as he notices it, too, but too late. Much too late. How the Jedi ever took Korriban is anyone’s guess.

He’s on his feet while his co-worker is still trying to make heads and tails of what he is sensing.

The flight attendant looks up from where they are unsuccessfully trying to placate one of the aliens in the business suits. Their antenna’s waver in distress. “Please sit back down, sir, you may not leave your assigned seat at this time-“

He flicks one of his lightsabers from his belt and ignites it, breaking about a dozen flight safety regulations in one fell swoop, and not a moment too soon.

The K’lor’slug breaks through the vent grating right across the aisle with an unholy shriek, over the juiciest target. They _can _devour an adult human whole, if they have to, but children… children are bite-sized.

Granny barely has the time to trill in horror before Sar decapitates it with lethal precision. Head and body splatter across the floor in different directions. The throat convulses even in death, a tunnel serrated with more teeth than any sane person would trust.

A juvenile, not an adult. Not big enough. That’s the only reason it fit into the vent in the first place.

But it’s not freshly hatched. It had some time to put muscle on. Absently, Sar wipes at a glob of green slobber it managed to spit at his cheek and flays the terrified passengers with a burning look. The dead silence that has fallen over the cabin stays silent, instead of escalating to horrified screams.

He toes at the dead creature and purses his lips. “You don’t have an engine problem. You have an infestation.” Under Sar’s lazy drawl the flight attendant grows pale all the way to the tip of their antenna. “Don’t you?”


	3. Chapter 3

They get to Spira over ten hours late.

In that time Somminick has had the questionable pleasure of cutting his way through a whole _nests-worth_ of monstrosities he didn’t think existed anywhere but on their homeplanet and the only place crazy enough to import them. _Korriban_.

“Really? You think we invited those on purpose? They’re _vermin_, Timmns.” Sar is wringing gore out of his top with middling success. That’s something Somminick has given up on a while ago. Unless their hotel can work miracles his robe is a casualty of war. “They like to crawl up your exhaust vents planeside and hitchhike in your waste disposal areas. How come you don’t know this?”

“How come _you _know this?” There’s a certain edge to his voice. It’s possible that he is a little stressed out. He hadn’t expected to walk into a fight to the death on a holiday cruiser. He can’t even complain about it, that ended in his colleague telling him he _should have_.

Sar gives him a look. “Timmns, the Empire is one dirty transport shuttle away from becoming K’lor’slug Central. I used to give my acolytes pest control for punishment duty. Or any duty. Those things lay up to three hundred eggs in one go, if you don’t nuke them they overrun you.” The Sith glowers at a smear on the shuttle wall with an intensity usually reserved for Jedi he doesn’t know, students late for practice and enemies interrupting his sacrosanct tea-break to try and murder him while he’s off the clock. “If we ever find out who dumped them in our burial grounds while we weren’t around to skin them for it, their _descendants_ will wish they had never been born."

Stars and void.

“Until then we’re just gonna have to continue to assume it was you lot.”

Wait, what.

They do get to Spira, even if they are ten hours late, covered in unmentionable substances and Somminick now knows what a trash compactor looks like from the inside. This is not how he envisioned their holiday going.

It’s possible that his patience is somewhat taxed.

* * *

“**_Excuse_**_ me._”

Sar pauses in flipping through the assortment of colourful flyers he has prudently retreated to. Some battles aren’t worth getting caught up in. Timmns, who still looks like he has gone up against a shredder and _won_ (if barely), seems to be doing his best to keep himself from losing the last of his composure right there at the reception desk.

As interesting as that thought experiment would be…

“Something the matter?”

Both the very pale-ish blue attendant and his friend turn to him. Sar would _swear _he saw Timmns eyes flash yellow for a moment there. Yeah, right. As if. He must be more tired than he thought.

A pink shiver runs through the reception lady's translucent shell. Her eyes dart between the two of them, as if she is unsure which is the safer option. “A-as I was saying, I’m very sorry but you’re late. We couldn’t hold your rooms.”

Sar slowly puts the folder back he was toying with. “So you’re telling me we’re out of a place to stay.”

It does not look like she wants to word it that way, in fact, but she can hardly deny it. “Yes.”

Out of the corner of his eye Sar catches Timmns shooting him a look. Pshaw. He's not going to _eat_ her. “On the holiday my friend here booked with _your_ company. Because _your_ shuttle missed its safety inspection and we had to de-infest it for you or… you know. Let he vermin eat the passengers. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

The receptionist bites her lip. The tentacles she’s using for feet are slowly but surely winding themselves into a knot. Sar isn’t entirely sure what kind of self-preservation tactic that is, seems a bit contrary. “Uh.”

“You want to give that another try?”

* * *

She does.

In the end she can’t swing them what they originally booked so an upgrade will have to do. For shame. It’s the honeymoon suite, or something, but Sar can deal. They’re all adults here.

Timmns clears the door, loses his ruined robe and makes a beeline for a bowl of water that’s probably _not_ meant to try and drown yourself in in an attempt to get your face clean. He’s leaking exhaustion all over the place, though his shields are rapidly rebuilding. By the time he comes up for air Sar would buy the front if he didn’t know better.

“I’m sorry. That… that did not go as planned.”

Oh, really? Sar wouldn’t have guessed. “Relax,” and he can’t believe he’s the one saying this, “It could have been worse. How about you go grab a shower? I got you a pair of pants in the gift shop. The print is _horrible_.”

A spark of amusement lights Timmns’ presence and Sar has to pretend he’s incredibly busy with the mini bar before he gets caught smiling.


	4. Chapter 4

The bed is the next best thing to a _cloud_. They both end up sleeping on the floor. Force, who can get a moments rest on that kind of mattress without ruining their back? People pay for this?

Somminick has visited the occasional planet that tried to get into the good graces of a Jedi. This is a little excessive even compared to that.

It’s not so bad though, all told. Their ridiculously spacious living area has a very interesting floor installation that makes for a decent bed, in a pinch. It almost feels like memory foam of some kind.

The series of expressions Sar cycles through when he mentions that over the breakfast buffet is _interesting_. It settles on ‘unreadable’. Timmns takes another bite of Oro-omelette. Fluffy with just the right amount of chewiness. Perfect. He doesn’t have a lot of vices but if he had to pick one…

“Somminick.”

“Yes?”

“It’s a shag-rug. For shagging.”

What’s a shag-ru- “Oh.” That explains why that oversized floor tile is heart-shaped at least.

_Anyway_. Questionable bedding aside, their holiday seems to be off to a decent start after all. Granted, the process is hampered a little by the fact that neither of them knows what to _do_ on a holiday but Somminick has done his research. They also got a lot of suggestions, though he took them with a grain of salt.

Their weekly Sabbacc companions had been especially enthusiastic and, he feels, deliberately inaccurate. Who has half-naked people peel muja fruit for them and _why_? That has to have been bantha fodder.

He’s sure they will find something relaxing to do regardless. Sar seems to be warming up to the idea of free time, too. When Somminick gets back from a cursory inspection of the premises, he catches him with a whole stack of tourist brochures Sar hastily shoves under his pillow when he realizes he has an audience. It does not really aid in disguising what he was up to.

“I-I just liked the pictures!”

“Whatever you say, Sar.”

“Stop looking so smug!”

Not a chance in all of Corellia’s hells. This is finally going his way and Somminick intends to enjoy it to its fullest.

* * *

“Two, you say? One dark, one light?”

“Yes, Arkal-An.”

“Rejoice, child, we have been blessed. Prepare the sacrifice.”

* * *

Theron pokes at his holo screen listlessly. “You know, I could call. They should be there by now, right? That’s, that’s a thing people do, they call their lovers on holiday.” Do they? _Is_ that a thing people do? Yon hasn’t called.

Lana glances over from where she is staring at their map of their commander’s latest project with predatory design. “So you’ve said.”

That’s not helpful. Theron slumps a little more. “I _know_ but do you think he’d want me to call? Or not call? Would that- would it be weird if I did?” They’ve barely been gone a _day_. That’s no time at all. It’ll be at least another two weeks before they’re back.

Theron’s not sure how he will cope with that. He’s more lonely than he expected to be. There’s a very Yon-shaped void in his life and he’s the biggest hypocrite this side of the Core.

Lana sighs sharply. “Theron. If you want to call him, call him.”

“But what if it’s weird?”

“Oh, for Force’s sake.”

They’ve had this conversation about five times so far and Theron is almost positive Lana will murder him if he keeps at it. Maybe. She’s the only person he can talk about this with though, so that’s a risk he’s going to have to take. He flips through his contacts’ reports without processing a word.

“Lana?”

“Yes?”

“I really miss him.”

She sighs again but it’s softer this time. “I’ve noticed.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: brief mention of vermin infestation typical for homes on Korriban

Sar has to admit that Timmns chose well. The resort they’re staying at is kind of touristy but far enough off the beaten path that it’s not chock-full with screaming younglings and partying teenagers. He has enough of that the rest of the year, thank you very much.

… on second thought, that might explain why their shuttle wasn’t up to standards.

Eh. Sar can handle a few k’lor’slugs. Their little adventure in transit doesn’t even rate his top ten. _That_ race is still led by the reason he is going to find a way to seed their Commander's underwear drawer with sandfleas one of these days. Number ten, the one time, about seven years ago, when a juvenile larva decided to make its home in the drain of his refresher and then got too fat to get back out, brings up the rear.

That damned creature almost did him in when he got around to cleaning that.

There are no plumbers on Korriban. Not a one. None that have survived until now anyhow. The closest you get are refitted Hunter-Killer droids that are as likely to blast your lavatory off the wall as they are to repair it. (Not always without reason, mind.)

Incidentally, a lot of Korriban-bred Sith are actually surprisingly savvy when it comes to that trade.

Sar maintains that honest work builds character though he is very glad shade stalkers don’t have the same affinity for the damp environments that k’lor’slugs prefer.

The better part of the Alliance doesn’t even know what kind of bullet they are dodging there.

Thankfully, whatever the reason for their shuttle-problems was, the resort itself seems well-managed enough, if not overly popular. Sar has spent a little while soaking up sun on the balcony already. The view is fantastic. A picture perfect beach, bracketed by lush, flower-dotted vegetation. The ocean is the kind of ridiculous azure you don’t think can possibly be real until you see it for yourself. There’s a faint purple-pink tinge to it on the horizon but Sar will put that down under ‘Alien planet doing alien things’.

Timmns has decided to be adventurous and, instead of returning to his usual clothes, added a patterned shirt to his patterned shorts that’s just as atrocious. Sar’s not sure why he bothered, it’s not like he’s buttoning it up. The straw hat is a nice touch, too. He’s taking pictures of that get-up before this holiday is over, mark his words.

“I picked up a shirt because I don’t want to end up burned to a crisp. Spira's sun exposure is very intense, you know.” Timmns eyes him suspiciously from the safety of their climate controlled room. Sar doesn’t bother to tip up his sunglasses to return that look. It’s bloody toasty here and that’s just the way he likes it. “How long have you been out there?”

“What time is it?”

“Two in the afternoon.”

Huh. Time flies. Relaxing isn’t as boring as he expected. “Three hours.”

Timmns digests that for a moment. “Sar.”

“Yes?”

“How are you not sunburnt yet? You’re pale as a Sullustan crab. I thought humans were susceptible to that.”

Sar rolls his eyes, not that Timmns can see it. It’s the thought that counts. “First of all, I’m Sith-blooded, thank you very much.” He takes a sip of his cocktail. “And secondly, you realize that that’s just another kind of minor radiation damage, right.”

There is a pause. It is somewhat emotional. “Sar.”

“Hm?”

“Are you using the Force to counteract sunburn?”

“If I say no will you believe me?”

“No. No, I won’t.”


End file.
